Up close, you can see that the false guard is covered in dried blood, his uniform torn and shredded as if by claws of some large beast. He smiles at you evilly, his lips raising to reveal oversize fang-like teeth. The smell of rotting flesh in the hot sun reaches you suddenly, overwhelming your gorge.
The Mexican warrior Diego reaches for a weapon, and something about that particular act something awakens inside of each of you...
Inside the compound, small dust zephyrs transform into Texas soldiers standing in parade. The buildings smooth over and repair themselves as numberless bullet holes disappear and shattered masonry becomes whole. Soldiers appear in greater numbers, gathered in the compound before one of them speaking. You see him draw a line in the dusty ground, gesture grandly, and then purposefully step across. One by one, all of the soldiers cross over and join him, filled with pride and grim determination, all except one. The others face the last man and you see in him the embodiment of inevitability, a spectre of the dark fate approaching from the south. The lone remaining man looks hauntingly familiar, if only you could focus, and see him more clearly. Your mind reaches out, drawn into the past even as your new senses scream at you to hang on, remind you of the peril at the gate you're forgetting.
Trapped between two worlds, each of you please roll a d20 to make Intellect defense rolls. At stake is whether you are drawn into the repeating past of the Alamo, or if you can keep your mind in the present. If you wish to spend effort on this roll, say so in advance.